After Effects
by sarapals with past50
Summary: A short story following the events of the CSI finale and the story "After All". Old friends show up as Grissom and Sara and their family grow and age. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**After Effects**

 **Chapter 1**

 _An afternoon, approximately one year following the last chapter of "After All":_

The blade of the sickle knife flashed in the sunlight as Gil Grissom carefully sliced into the soft underside of the dead sea turtle. A leatherback; by its size, a young adult male. After hatching, the male never returned to land. This one had washed up overnight on a narrow strip of rocky beach, reported to the park service this morning, and a ranger had called him.

This was his work; as an environmentalist, as a scientist, for one of the largest oceanographic organizations in the world, he was the contact for a number of agencies when endangered sea life—mostly turtles and whales, an occasional shark—was found dead along the coast. In three months, there had been four large turtles; this one was the fifth.

Taking a deep breath with the first cut, the air smelled of salt and earthy softness. Bird calls filled the air above him where the island's steep cliffs appeared to touch white clouds rolling silently through beautiful bright blue skies. Getting back to his work after a few seconds of diversion, Grissom carefully cut away the soft bottom of the leatherback.

The turtle was small enough for him to handle, easily rolling it to its back after photographing and examining for injury or some obvious reason for its death. Cutting through the layer of blubber took several minutes and then he peeled it back to reveal the turtle's organs.

Making a grunting sound as his eyes followed the digestive tract, he knew what he was going to find. Nothing was out of place, no scars, no odd growths showed up. The long winding tube of the esophagus circled the stomach as it should. Grissom shook his head as he moved the knife to soft tissue and sliced.

For an animal that lived its life in the oceans, eating mostly jellyfish, the leatherback had an interesting esophagus, designed to keep anything swallowed on a path to its stomach. Opening up part of the esophagus and stomach, he used his gloved hand to press on the tube, feeling a lump that should not be there, before exploring the stomach contents.

Immediately, his fingers touched what he knew he'd find. Wiping his hand on the apron he'd tied on before starting, he motioned for the man standing near him to take more photographs as he brought a wad of tangled plastic from the turtle's stomach. The lump in its esophagus was another tangle of plastic.

Holding the soggy mass in his hand, anger and sorrow competed for his emotions with sadness winning. Humans who would never see these magnificent creatures in their natural state were responsible for this one's death.

The leatherback turtle had one objective—to eat and, as Grissom knew, the largest turtle in the world often mistook plastic bags for jellyfish. Once swallowed, the bag went into the stomach and, as happened to this turtle, would block the digestion process. The turtle died.

Carefully, he cut several pieces of tissue from its organs, bagged those, as more photographs were taken before he folded the blubber and skin back in place. He removed his gloves and searched in his bag for a couple of stamped fabric tags which he clipped on the carapace and on one of the back flippers. The tags served as an identification method in case the turtle, or parts of it, were found in the next few days.

Stepping back, he looked at Jim Brass and said, "You didn't think you'd be doing this in retirement?" A smile tugged at his mouth.

His long-time friend, serving as his camera man, chuckled. "I thought we'd be in a boat in Lake Mead dropping a hook to catch our dinner—not cutting up dead turtles."

Grissom shrugged. "Yeah? Well, this is better for—for the future." He paused. "I think."

They packed everything into a waterproof duffel and placed it in the zodiac inflatable boat anchored a few steps away. Following guidelines of the oceanographic society, they looped a yellow rope around the turtle and prepared to haul it to deeper water.

Towing the turtle took longer than he thought it would; moving it beyond the cove, Grissom hoped the tide would take it further into the ocean. The small boat, freed of its burden, seemed to fly back to the larger boat where they stowed the duffle on board, washed hands, and checked currents and tides before they climbed back into the zodiac and returned to the secluded stretch of beach.

Grissom's eyes searched the coastline; once in the cove where soaring cliffs towered above the rocky beach, he spotted a flash of color. At that moment, he throttled the outboard motor until its high-pitched whine reverberated back from the steep precipice.

The flash of color quickly came together as humans and arms waving in his direction. He cut the motor and let the gentle surf carry the boat to shore where the arrival of two adults brought a celebration worthy of astronauts returning from Mars.

Three voices squealed with welcoming delight; two pairs of chubby toddler legs jumped in excitement as the babies tried to find forward momentum. The dark-haired girl-child, slim and agile, ran toward him and the boat. He caught her as she threw herself over the front bow, shrieks of laughter filling his ears.

The two small boys arrived with excitement that equaled their sister's and tumbled into the boat as Grissom tried to grab one and then the other until he was covered with wiggling legs and arms going helter-skelter while everyone giggling and chattered and babbled as if it had been weeks since he had left them on the beach and gone less than a hundred yards away.

Legs kept wiggling as Sara arrived, laughing, lifting her daughter into her arms as she extended a hand to Jim.

"They've been looking for you!"

After a few more minutes of scrambling, Grissom managed to get out of the boat and stand upright with a child in each arm.

His question of "What have you been doing without me?" brought more squeals and nonsense words from the two he held. He looked at his wife and daughter.

Sara's smile told him she was happy. Her dark wind-blown hair curled around her face; her cheeks tinged pink by the sun. Not for the first time, he was speechless by her appearance, by his good fortune, by this happiness he had as a husband and father.

In her mother's arms, their daughter's peal of laughter combined happiness and exuberance in innocence incomparable to any other sound. Only nine months older than the twin boys, she was years ahead in linguistic ability.

Clearly, she said, "Daddy, they have been moving rocks." Her small shoulders shrugged; her arms and hands flew outward. "Not even trying to help me build a castle!"

He laughed; he tilted his head back and let his laughter dismiss thoughts of dead turtles and plastic waste and pollution of the oceans.

Leaning to her, he kissed her upturned cheek and then kissed his wife before saying, "It's a wonderful day to build a castle, Cate. I'll help you."

 _A/N: Length depends...on you! Let us know what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: A new chapter...enjoy!_

 **After Effects**

 **Chapter 2**

Gil Grissom moved the letter across the desk; for three days, he'd been transferring it from one place to another but it had not left the top of the desk. His finger tapped the wooden surface while his eyes moved to the scene outside where his wife watered her tomato plants.

His hand moved to his chin where his fingers raked through his short beard. His thoughts turned to the past as he smiled, watching the present-day circumstances of his life a few feet from him. Sara had moved from tomato plants to toys.

Most people his age had grandchildren older than his own; he chuckled, remembering more than once when he had been mistaken as the grandfather of his children. The years before their births, he had never given much thought to being a father yet when a baby had suddenly been cast into their lives, he and Sara had realized, without saying words, they were meant to be parents to the little orphan infant.

Almost nine months later, their sons had been born. Twins; never in their dreams had they thought they'd have twins. His grin grew across his face as he watched Sara moving across the shaded deck. A table filled with water and sand was the current favorite play thing and Sara added more water to the tray.

For the first time in their young lives, the children were spending mornings away from home. To Grissom—and Sara—this was bittersweet; the kids were thriving, making friends, learning and absorbing knowledge at an amazing pace while he and Sara had a few hours of quiet to work on several projects.

Leaning back in his chair, his thoughts went to the children.

Cate, the sweetest child he could imagine, was clearly the leader for her brothers. The two boys, named after their close friends and affectingly called Jay and Gray from the moment their sister had shortened James and Gregory, looked to her for approval, openly admiring anything she did.

For the first time in their lives, they were with other children and, so far, having a positive experience, happy to walk to the child care center every morning.

He chuckled as he picked up the letter again. In his old age, he had been given an incredible gift—three beautiful, mostly well-behaved children and an amazing breathtakingly-lovely wife. The letter's words blurred until he wiped thumb and finger across his eyes. He glanced at the deck again; at Sara's movements.

Watching her was enough to cause a familiar warmth to spread in his groin; he shifted in his chair. He had grown to appreciate preschool and the absence of three young children for several hours a day had brought an invigorating renewal of passion.

His eyes went back to the letter.

The invitation was one he—and Sara—had dreamed of for years. A generous offer to be aboard one of the top research vessels in the world for a two weeks; and he was going to turn it down.

Sighing, he placed the letter on the desk; he stood, smoothed the fabric of his jeans over an increasing erection, and walked outside.

A short time later, he folded the clean bed sheet back as his wife walked into the bedroom; her hair was down and damp from a quick joint-sex stirring shower. She wore his shirt and as she moved, it swayed open, showing her almost naked body beneath it. Propping himself on an elbow, he smiled as she walked to the bed.

She looked down at him as he reached for her hand and as she moved closer, the shirt seemed to move on its own, falling from her shoulders and sliding to the floor. Smiling, she pushed his shoulder so he rolled back onto the bed. Climbing over him until her thighs gripped his ribs, she smiled down at him.

"Now, let's see what you have in mind," she said as his hand slipped under her bottom.

Afterwards, laying just on the edge of sleep, a cool breeze blowing into the bedroom, reluctant to let go of the satisfied happiness he had experienced, Grissom drifted, full of contentment, greedy for recent events to pass through his mind again, when Sara said, "What's your decision?"

He stirred, moving so his lips touched her left breast before he spoke. "We can't do this—I'm going to call him."

Sara kissed the top of his head and ruffled his hair with her fingers. "I think we can do it."

Lifting his face so his eyes met hers put his mouth against her chin. As much as he would have liked to remain where he was, he scooted upward and pulled her into a hug. "How can we do it? Take three kids—under the age of four—on a research ship for two weeks? I can't…"

She stopped him with a kiss. "We'll do it." Softly, she laughed and raised her hand, using her fingers to count. "They've been on a boat as long as they can remember. They have good sea legs. You've worked for how many years—writing reports, dissecting dead animals, speaking at seminars. You are well-known." She lifted her thumb, adding, "And we'll all be happy! If you turn this down, we may never get another opportunity like this. And they asked you—us—the letter says 'Sara and your family'—he knows you have three little kids."

She felt his sigh before he said, "I don't know how we'll do it. The kids are great on our boat, but—but—this is a big ship."

"I'll tie a rope around their waists and hang a bell around their necks."

Her joke was an old one.

Kissing her again, he did it so she knew she was being kissed, making her breathless when he finally released her.

"Whoa!" Sara whispered, giggling as she said, "We've got kids to pick up in about forty minutes, big guy!"

Eight weeks later, Grissom, Sara, and their three small children looked up at the massive ship with a slim gangway stretching from the dock to a deck high above their heads. Someone had taken their luggage on a small hand truck which had disappeared into the ship.

Unsure of their next move, they stood quietly, holding hands; Sara was the first to notice the golf cart coming in their direction.

"Welcome, welcome! Let's get aboard!" The voice boomed as the silent cart came to a stop. The ship's captain, Jake Hudson, jumped out of the driver's seat, taking hurried steps to reach the family. He rose on his toes to kiss Sara on both cheeks before taking Grissom's hand and pumping it several times.

Then he turned his full attention to the three children.

With his mop of white hair that had not seen a comb or cutting in some time, his black frame glasses that magnified his eyes, and a nose that resembled a lump of clay, his appearance was faintly ridiculous, almost monstrous, and could easily have frightened most people. But he radiated sweetness with every word and glance. He seemed to find affection and approval from everyone.

During a previous meeting, he'd met Cate, Jay, and Gray and, today, their hands loosened tight grips as he formally shook hands with each, touching each shoulder, laughing as he invited the children to sit with him on the bench seat of the golf cart. Sara and Grissom scooted onto the rear seat piling the small backpacks between them.

In minutes they were on the ship and riding in an elevator while sitting in a golf cart. The kids were laughing and talking with the ship's captain as if he were an old friend by the time the elevator stopped and opened on the main deck. A flurry of activities followed; meeting other crew members and establishing a route to common areas as they toured the ship, they finally opened the door to a series of connected cabins.

After inviting the children to join him for dinner later, Captain Jake left them with their bags stacked in the middle of the first room. Silence followed for eight seconds; then kids were running around parents, scrambling over bags, climbing on chairs to look out of the funny round windows.

Grissom looked at his wife, shrugged his shoulders, and laughed before saying, "I was beginning to worry—they'd been so quiet."

 _A/N: We appreciate hearing from you! Keeping GSR alive!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: A new chapter...continues on the research ship. (For clarity, in Chapter 1, the children were one; in Chapters 2, 3 and 4, a couple of years have passed, so kids are 4 years old. Sorry for confusion!)_

 **After Effects**

 **Chapter 3**

Sara's foot touched the floor first; she scooted upright managing to keep her bottom on the edge of the bed before placing both feet on the cool floor. Glancing over her shoulder, she got out of bed. After she rearranged bed covers over three little bodies, heads nearly touching in the center of the bed and legs radiating out in different directions, she wandered into the next room.

Moonlight from a small window illuminated tangled covers on narrow beds along two walls but the bed underneath the window showed a long bump. She turned to an empty bed, moving to smooth covers, and in the process, a soft toy hit her foot.

She gasped, barely audible, before realizing what it was.

A quiet mumble caused her to giggle. Sara whispered, "I thought you'd be asleep. How long have you been in here?"

"A while," came a low voice.

In three steps, she was beside the bed, lifting the lightweight blanket as her husband moved to make room. And in that moment, she knew she wanted his hands to touch her, intimately. A flush of warmth enveloped her body as the thought of sex flashed from brain to toes.

A few seconds passed as she pushed her pajama pants to her ankles and climbed into the bed.

Another soft mumble that translated to her ears as "you're feet are cold" brought another giggle.

Moving her hips against his, she whispered, "Well, you can warm my feet up right along with the rest of me."

Half a second, if that long, passed before Gil Grissom responded to her request. Hands moved over her butt, gentle, caressing, pulling her against him. The low light from the moon reflected a glowing warmth in his eyes, a smile worked at the corners of his lips. His white shirt was open at the throat revealing a glimpse of his skin. She kissed that triangular hollow at the base of it and let her tongue play across it.

Immediately, his warm fingers touched her cheek, guiding her face to his. The tip of his thumb slid over her chin. Softly, he said, "I've wanted you all day."

Sara smiled, saying, "We've been so busy—four days already and I catch a glimpse of you at dinner."

"I—I…"

She covered his mouth and kissed him. When she broke from the kiss, she said, "I love what we are doing—the kids love it." Her mouth explored his face, pausing to add, "and everyone seems to love them." Softly, she laughed, "They get their charisma from their father."

The smell of her skin was intoxicating to him with every breath. His palm smoothed along her spine under her shirt and as quickly as she'd dropped her pants, she pulled her arms down and pushed the shirt over her head.

"Dear God, woman, you'll drive me to madness!"

Her hands moved to remove his shirt and as soon as their bodies touched, she felt the hardness between her thighs. A caressing murmur of "Got to get these off" made her tug at the band of his boxers. Then his dark form moved beside hers, his hand moving to her back while stroking fingers down the front of her body.

An aching excitement penetrated every cell of her body. A quiet moan escaped her lips as he gathered her against his chest. His hand moved to her butt, cupping, caressing, creating waves of intense pleasure as his fingers knew where to touch.

He kissed her slowly, deeply, moving his tongue into the silky recesses of her mouth until she groaned with expectation. Moving lips along her shoulder, to her breasts, to the valley between them, he touched, kissed, made fleeting strokes of his tongue, he coaxed and courted her as if she wasn't already flushed, trembling, and awash with desire.

When his fingers grazed over the wet, intricately masked peak of her sex with gossamer-light touches, her body trembled in response. Both were aroused and an urgency shifted them into deeper physical intimacy. He pushed her knees up a little, entering her slowly, so hard, above her, inside her; instinctively, she tightened as his thrusts became easy, deeper with tenderness. Every movement drew pleasure as her climax approached.

Sara clenched around him, contracting as she drew him deeper inside her body until she heard a deep growl. At that moment, she reached her own peak of pleasure and, a few seconds later, all either knew was the ecstasy of intense sexual pleasure.

When Sara opened her eyes, moonlight had evaporated and the pearly haze before sunrise had began to brighten the corners of the room. Threading fingers through her husband's hair, she kissed his forehead.

"I never tire of this," she whispered.

She felt Grissom's chest move in a low laugh. "Maybe we should sleep here and give the big bed to the kids."

"They would still find us—'I'm cold' or 'I lost my bunny'—or as Gray does, just crawl in bed without a word."

He rose on an elbow and tucked the sheet around her shoulders. He said, "You're having fun, right? I—I spend the day on the rear deck washing bird poop from buoys while you are…"

Sara broke in before he finished, saying, "playing. We've seen pods of porpoises and sharks, a few turtles—much excitement about sharks! Then we filled a plastic pool with sea water and one of the researchers doing sampling put tiny shrimp in it. And it took several hours to name all the shrimp. They run around on the bow—which is larger than the deck at home—just as happy as kids on a playground."

"Everyone seems to enjoy having the kids around."

"I think they do. Captain Jake said kids on a ship made a happier place—and your kids are happy as long as the freezer is full of ice cream and popsicles."

Grissom folded his arms around her, saying, "If we look out the window, we can watch the sun rise." He would never suggest leaving their sleeping kids for a short walk to the deck.

Opening up the sheet so they were wrapped together, they pulled to their knees and watched as the white light became gold that bled into the ocean like fire. Gradually a defined circle appeared, lost its focus, and flashed a mosaic of jewels across the ocean.

Sara and Grissom remained at the window until the sun was well clear of the horizon. The ocean was calm; the sky an unclouded blue.

"Another beautiful day," Sara said.

Grissom kissed her cheek. "I'll go get coffee and pastries for us—you—you…" He grinned and kissed her again, removing the sheet from his shoulders and getting out of bed. "Sleep for awhile. I'll put your coffee in an insulated cup so it stays hot."

Sara got out of bed as he did. "I'll get back in with the kids. They might sleep longer."

Quietly, Grissom dressed, left the room and made his way to the dining room where a few people were working at tables with laptops and a few more he could see in the kitchen. Mostly crew members, acknowledging him with a nod of head or uplifted chin, before returning to their private time. He waited for a tray of pastries to appear, light as clouds, filled with fruit and cream, and placed four on a tray before filling two tall cups with hot, aromatic coffee.

As he made his way back to their cabin, his feet seemed to float as he remembered the early morning love-making. Smiling at his thoughts, he decided he had a renewed appreciation for early coffee and freshly-made pastries. And sex...with Sara.

 _A/N: Thank you for reading. We also appreciate hearing from you...hoping to keep GSR alive!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:** Thank you for reading, for helping to keep GSR alive in fanfiction! Enjoy!_

 **After Effects**

 **Chapter 4**

Twelve days at sea, not a glimpse of land, meant everyone was looking forward to stepping on solid ground. Or drinking truly fresh water. Or eating pineapple. The last came from Cate when asked what she wanted to do in Hawaii. She was also certain she'd seen two mermaids and had spent the last fifteen minutes providing detailed descriptions to two of the young scientists.

Their last day at sea; everyone on board had become good friends, a team with common goals. From the beginning, the crew and scientists had worked together rehearsing what was going to be done eight times in twelve days. Buoys the size of small cars would be lifted from the ocean, chained to the rear deck, cleaned, unloaded and reloaded with instruments, and then dropped back into the ocean. With exceptions made for the two chefs and Sara and the children, everyone learned the process.

When the first buoy was pulled from the water, the stench was unbelievable; the term 'poop deck' was muttered more than once. Whatever the ocean and sky contained for eighty or so days had wrapped and covered the surface layer upon layer. Using pressure hoses to wash the buoy, everyone learned where to be out of the spray—at least most of the spray. A nasty, dirty job done with good humor in the name of science. Once cleaned, the six foot long cylinder holding instruments that measured sounds, waves, water, and air was removed. Another cylinder went back into the buoy which was dropped by the industrial crane back into the ocean to continue sending data to scientists all over the globe.

It was strenuous physical work and Gil Grissom loved every minute of it. Even when the crane hook slipped its hold, every person knew what to do; no shouting, no running around. The process continued with barely a hitch. At the end of each day, every person was exhausted yet ready to enjoy discussions that were incredible, cutting-edge, science-based, and often rare research experiences.

When a small hand tugged at his, Grissom picked up his dark-haired daughter and pointed to the far horizon where a hazy line was beginning to take shape. He said, "That's where we're going—that's Hawaii!"

With a giggle, she said, "I'm going to eat pineapple!" She wiggled to be free of his hold, saying, "I'm going to tell Gray and Jay! They don't know we're getting to land—they are being pirates."

Pirate play had been a big part of the past ten days, at least for his sons. He placed Cate on deck and watched her run to her brothers where an animated conversation took place before the three children ran to their mother for another enthusiastic exchange. As he watched his family, he was almost overwhelmed with an emotion he had experienced numerous times and would have difficulty putting into words. Good fortune, luck, fate—God—whatever had guided his life to this point…blinking rapidly, he cleared his eyes.

He loved his children in ways that a non-parent would never comprehend. He'd love the twins from the moment they had learned Sara was pregnant. For Cate, quietly, he chuckled; now, they admitted they had loved her from the time of her perilous birth at the tragic death of her biological mother. Neither he nor Sara cared who her parents had been; they loved the little girl unconditionally. And while genes explained her appearance, Cate's mannerisms were an imitation of Sara's.

His sons, one the image of his own childhood photographs while the other was a definite combination of both parents, were opposites in certain behaviors and single-minded in others. Jay was more earnest, brows often knitted together in thought, while Gray, lighthearted, witty, was the first of the three to defy and question, doing so with sweet innocence of a beautiful smile. He and Sara had quickly learned his benign behavior often disguised his actions—filling the toilet with four rolls of paper, drawing lines all over his brother using a black ink pen. The list expanded weekly.

Chuckling, Grissom leaned against the rail, his back to approaching land, so he could appreciate what was happening around him.

This extraordinary voyage they were about to complete had been a dream in real time. Every day had been a day of surprises from manta rays to dolphins, turtles, and, for three days, whale sightings. Not just one or two of any of these but pods and schools of wildlife on sparkling, calm seas.

The kids had enjoyed every day, sleeping well at night, happy during the day. And eating—he chuckled and touched his belly. His pants still fit. Saying the meals were good didn't began to actually describe the banquet of foods provided by the two chefs. And for the first time in four years, his wife had added a few pounds of weight which her slender frame desperately needed.

His eyes found her surrounded by their laughing children. She was beautiful, sun-touched skin, wind-blown hair, reflecting her children's delight; how did such good fortune find him, he marveled to himself.

With a jumble of clatter and clamor, his children were suddenly around him with three conversations going at once. Sara's arm wrapped around his waist.

"I'm as excited to see Hawaii as the kids," she said, softly, near his ear.

For four idyllic days, they lived in a guest cottage with a short walk to the beach as its primary attraction. A screen porch with a hammock, an outdoor shower, and a kid's gym set provided additional entertainment to three young children. Hours spent playing in low surf, on a sandy beach, in a swing meant the children were asleep before sunset giving Sara and Grissom rare alone time.

In the peaceful nights, the two talked and read, teased and laughed, bathed and showered together, and made slow, effortless love to each other going beyond simple sexual pleasure. Sara said it was some kind of enchantment of time and place; he said it was music as one note follows another, so did they as day turned to night.

On their last night, Sara's phone buzzed for the first time since leaving California. With a glance, she said, "Catherine" before answering.

Grissom heard one side of the conversation; almost all responses were answers to questions about their trip. Then, Sara frowned and looked at Grissom.

"Catherine—Catherine—I'm putting you on speaker."

The voice of their long-time friend sounded as if she were a few miles away as she asked Grissom similar questions to those she'd just asked Sara. Then she said, "Do you two remember Brenda Collins?"

Grissom slowly moved his head in a negative response, frowning as he searched his memory.

After a long moment, Sara said, "Little girl—her sister killed the family—first year I was in Vegas." She pointed to Grissom, adding, "I went to the hospital with her—she'd been abused—by the father—is that right?"

"Yes! You do remember her!" Catherine answered. "Have you had any contact with her—anything recent—or—or at any time since then?"

"No contact with her. Afterwards, a year or so later, I sort of checked—learned she was with a relative—an aunt, I think. And she seemed to be doing well in school. But nothing since—why?"

They heard Catherine's breath, a loud sigh, before she said, "Can you talk?"

"Yes." Sara's eyes met her husband's, both clearly puzzled by Catherine's words.

"Smart girl—ended up graduating from Stanford Law. Returned to Vegas and worked in one of the top firms here, married, had a baby. About ten days ago, she and her husband were killed in an accident—a few miles from their home here in Vegas. It's been tragic news, nightly story for several days—a side swipe and both cars ran off the highway, killed the other driver too."

Sara murmured words of sorrow but Catherine interrupted her.

"That's not why I called. Well, it is—there is one survivor. Brenda has an eight month old daughter who was in the car, strapped in her rear-facing infant seat. Not a scratch on her." Catherine paused. "A team went out because of the fatalities and found nothing to indicate anything other than a road accident.

"So when the lawyers showed up, I thought it was because of the investigation—who was at fault which was obvious from witnesses and evidence—looking for a lawsuit. But—it was something else. And that's the reason I called. They are looking for you, Sara."

Grissom and Sara heard Catherine take a quick breath before she continued. "Of course, I could get nothing from them. And I was cautious about giving information but they seemed to know you had married and lived in LA. They had not been able to get in contact with you and contacted the lab—me. I told them I wasn't sure when you would return and would let them know when I heard from you."

Another pause for breath and when neither Sara nor Grissom spoke, Catherine continued. "Do you have any idea why they are trying to find you? The two guys were top echelon—as in partners—not newly minted—and were very closed-mouth. Could not get anything out of them as to why they wanted to find you."

Sara grinned, knowing her friend's inquisitiveness was not subtle. She said, "Honestly, I have no idea—I've not thought of Brenda in years. When I learned she seemed to be doing well, I—I never checked on her again. I'm trying to piece the case together. Wasn't her sister who killed their parents the actual mother of Brenda?"

Grissom's eyebrows shot up as he remembered. "Yes—the girl said she killed her brothers and both parents because none of them noticed what was happening to her—the abuse from the father, the hidden pregnancy. The little girl—Brenda—said only one word." His fingers traced across his forehead as he searched his memory. "Buffalo—her dad had this," his fingers touched his chest. "This necklace with a buffalo engraved on it."

"When will you get home?" Catherine asked.

He said, "We fly home tomorrow. If you can, hold them off for a day or two so we can get the kids back in preschool and some semblance of a schedule. Whatever it is, it can wait a few more days."

A few more questions from Catherine about the kids and the call ended. They remained on the quiet porch yet unable to return to their previous peaceful mood. Finally, Grissom stood, reaching for Sara's hand.

"Let's go to bed," he whispered. "Whatever it is, we'll know in a few days."

Sara nodded, took his hand, and kissed him. Passing sleeping children, they found their bed as hands parted clothing, and the gentleness of the night surrounded them in another magical, star-filled evening.

 _A/N: We appreciate you! Thanks for reading, giving encouragement to continue. Love live GSR!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: We appreciate all those who are reading...advancing ahead by 4 years!_

 **After Effects**

 **Chapter 5**

 _Four years later:_

" _Pura vida"_ as translated became "pure life" but here it took on a much broader meaning from "hello" to "no worries".

Sara Sidle Grissom had laughed and repeated the greeting to the man driving the mini-van. More than a decade had passed since she had met this man but he appeared ageless with his iron gray hair combed back from his unlined face. He had made new and instant friends by addressing each child by name as they packed into the minivan and kept a playful dialogue going as he drove out of the small city. They had traveled a smooth paved highway for a short time before stopping for a man-size iguana crawling across the pavement. The kids had been stunned into silence as the real-live dinosaur disappeared into the thick foliage.

Most people would think they were crazy—but Sara had never let the thought enter her mind. Not once. Not when she and her husband had adopted an infant while pregnant with twins; not when involving their young family in environmental work on a boat from tagging sea turtles to picking up trash. Even when presented with the unexpected arrival of another child, an eight-month old baby girl, Sara had never considered "crazy" as a description of their life.

This trip wasn't crazy—even though her long-time friend, Catherine Willows, had said, "You must be nuts! Four kids in a tent…in the middle of a jungle!"

Sara had smiled, even inviting her friend to travel with them. Catherine had responded, "Maybe to Paris!"

A trip with three eight year olds and one four year old meant extensive planning, but once they landed in Costa Rica, nervous giggles and tired grumpiness had been replaced with wide-eyed wonder within minutes of leaving the airport. She leaned forward and placed a hand on her husband's shoulder.

Gil Grissom touched his wife's hand, asking, "Everyone okay?"

"Yes," Sara answered for the three children sitting beside her. She pulled her oldest daughter close and kissed the top of the child's head. A squirm on her left brought her arm around the skinny shoulders of one of her sons. She said, "This is pretty exciting, isn't it?"

Turning his face to hers, Jay said, "That iguana was cool—are we going to see more?"

His brother, Gregory, bounced several times in his seat, restrained slightly by the seat belt, said, "Sloths—when will we see sloths?"

Cate, older than the twins by nine months, leaned toward her brothers. "You know sloths stink—and you have to be very quiet to even see one."

Gregory pinched his fingers together and drew a line across his mouth and then immediately said, "I can be quiet."

The three children continued their conversation about birds and insects and rare animals repeating what they had learned about the vast biodiversity in the country.

Sara loved her children; admitting only to herself that, at times, she might love one more than another. Today, she loved them equally; loved them for their good behavior, for their humor, and, especially today, their ability to adjust to travel. Her lips touched the curls of Jay sitting beside her. He was a miniature Gilbert Grissom; she only had to look at the boy's dad to know what he would do and how he would respond.

Her fingers reached to caressed Gregory's shoulder; she liked to think he was a blend of his parents but reality often reminded her that she had one son who was her carbon copy from his lanky frame to his occasionally smart mouth.

Their youngest child, Bronwyn, the blonde, blue-eyed four year old, had fallen asleep against her father's shoulder soon after the iguana sighting. Sara's eyes still moistened with sorrow at the loss of the child's parents and how she had come to them. At eight months, Bronwyn had become an orphan with a terminal ill grandmother as her next-of-kin. The infant's mother, an estate planning lawyer, had designated Sara and Gil Grissom as desired guardians in the event of the deaths of both parents—a request the Grissoms were unaware of until lawyers contacted them after an accident killed Bronwyn's parents. Without a second thought, someone else's baby became their fourth child; Sara smiled, thinking of those early days with a new baby.

When they had three infants at one time, there had been so much happening every hour—two people who had never spent time around babies suddenly had three—most days, Sara and Grissom did not remember what happened. With the arrival of Bronwyn and the four-year-olds in preschool, they had time to remember and experience a single baby.

They had loved and bonded with the little girl in ways that surprised both while their other children loved and accepted their new sister immediately. Sara 'wore' the baby in a front facing baby carrier for months. She slept with them—it was easier and everyone got hours of sleep. They took her on the boat months before they had taken the others. And she had changed their lives with her bright smile, a delightful personality, and the persistent adventurous spirit of her siblings.

Cate, the oldest, snuggled her head against Sara. She was their exotic, strikingly unusual even at age eight with a definite Asian appearance except for her wide round, hazel-colored eyes. And if Sara needed a right hand helper, it came most frequently from Cate. Smiling at her daughter, Sara hugged her as the child suddenly pointed ahead.

"Hummingbirds!"

The driver, Marc Rodin, a long-time friend from their previous visit to Costa Rica, slowed the van, stopping on the pavement several feet from dozens of emerald hummingbirds levitating in mid-air. A wall of fragrant flowers the size of Sara's hands densely grew along the highway and the birds darted and whizzed in a frenzy for nectar.

Only after the children had counted the birds several times did Grissom suggest they continue the trip, saying, "We want to get to our tents before dark!"

Marc laughed at Grissom's comment. "I told you our tents are much better now than they were when you were here years ago!" He said. "We pride ourselves on having real floors and running water in bathrooms now."

The conversation followed what was a natural course with three curious children and questions about bathrooms.

A few miles later, Marc turned onto a secondary road, one that went from pavement to gravel and back to pavement in the first mile before becoming a shell and sand dual track. Substantial undergrowth scraped the sides and undercarriage of the minivan as they drove through a tunnel of green dripping with moisture. The boys talked about the rainforest while watching for any sign of wildlife. Cate dozed against her mother's chest.

Suddenly, the van stopped; the boys stretched forward as did their parents.

Marc made a grunting sound. "Must have rained a lot in the night."

Before them was a river running across the road. Not a mild little stream but a fast moving, tumbling rapid river. Everyone stared for a few minutes until Marc opened the door and stepped out of the van. He said, "I think we can make it across."

He picked up a rock and tossed it into the river. Sara glanced at Grissom, biting her bottom lip when Gregory said, "The rock sank."

Back inside the van, Marc said, "It's not deep, just wide—so I'll drive slow." He looked back at the two boys, saying, "Pick up your feet so they don't get wet!"

The van was high so the water was never close to entering, but both boys picked up their feet and held breaths until they were out of the water unscathed.

They were headed to a remote southwestern corner of Costa Rica where less than two percent of tourists visited. Marc Rodin had been there for nearly twenty years, studying the diversity of the virgin forest and wilderness that stretched all the way to Panama. He and his group had slept in hammocks in the early years, slowly progressed to old canvas army cast-off tents, and, according to his descriptions, had graduated to cabins built from salvaged wood complete with electricity and running water.

Minutes later, after an uphill drive, they entered a clearing. Marc's delight was evident on his face as he pointed to a long lodge and several cabins built along the hillside, surrounded by forest; not a tent in sight.

"The entire place is built from recovered timber—solar panels and a hydro-turbine on a creek supply electricity. Right now, we have twelve on-going research projects and, including all of you, we have twenty-six people here." He pointed to a cabin above the lodge, adding, "And that's where the Grissom family will live for a month—lots of beds, two bathrooms, and a zipline right to the river."

Everyone piled out of the van with Grissom holding the sleeping Bronwyn. The older kids shouldered their brightly colored back packs as several people approached the group. Quick introductions, loading luggage onto a cart took several minutes.

"It looks like a tree house," Cate said, gazing at the house with a broad porch wrapping around three sides.

"What exactly is a zipline?" Gregory asked.

Marc laughed, saying, "Sort of a swing that works as an elevator—but only goes down, not up."

"I'd like to see the hydro-turbine," Jay said. "We've seen those at Hoover Dam which are huge." Looking at Marc, he asked, "I think I could figure out how it works."

Marc Rodin threw his head back and laughed. "I'll take you there tomorrow—you'll get to see how it runs."

Eventually, the family and their luggage made it to the cabin after multiple stops for one more captivating view of a creek and butterflies, more hummingbirds, herons, and a howler monkey. No longer sleeping, Bronwyn joined her brothers and sister in their excited search for anything new and different, as animated by smelling flowers as they were the monkey.

As Sara and Grissom walked behind the children, he placed his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. Chuckling, he winked at Sara. "It's been a long time since our first visit," he said.

Nodding, she agreed, saying, "Much better than those tents!"

Another laugh from her husband as he said, "We've come a long way, baby!"

 _A/N: Now-you know what happened to Brenda Collins' baby-Bronwyn! And Sara and Grissom have returned to Costa Rica for a month...Thank you for reading! Thank you for sending reviews, comments, encouragement!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Thank you to those who continue to read and review!**_

 **After Effects**

 **Chapter 6**

A sweep of rain blew through, pattering drops on the tile roof top before unleashing a slashing drumbeat surge of water. Sara snuggled against the warm body of her husband, hoping to get three or four minutes before the sounds of small feet joined the pounding of rain.

Less than a minute later, long enough to give Gil Grissom time to move his face into that sweet smelling valley of his wife's chest, they heard the fast steps of children's feet.

"It's scary," Bronwyn whispered as Grissom boosted his youngest child into the bed. Not for the first time, she'd led the way.

"You know it's the rain," he said, moving to make room for her in the middle of the bed.

Both boys crawled over the foot of the bed; one saying, "It's loud!" They wiggled underneath covers, each taking a parent's side of the bed.

"I'm not staying by myself."

He gave Cate a helping hand as she scrambled over her brother and her dad to the middle of the bed.

Sara laughed. "Are we having fun?"

Cate was the only one who answered, saying, "It's like sleeping on the boat, isn't it." In the darkness the little girl found her mother's hand, twinning fingers together.

From an early age, the children had slept with their parents on the boat; a bed that had become increasingly crowded.

"It is," Sara whispered.

In mere seconds, everyone was asleep except for Sara.

The rain poured, making waterfalls, replenishing pools and streams, filling gutters that flowed into rain barrels, drenching everything in this magnificent rainforest. The month had passed in a flash of experiences to be remembered and relived for weeks, hopefully making memories that would last a lifetime.

The kids had played and explored under the supervision of two local teenagers who had taught them how to use the zipline, to paddle a kayak, to fish, to climb onto rickety looking ladders to walk above the forest canopy, to trek into the rainforest at night with flashlights to find animal eyes shining back at them.

As a family, they had paddled along the slow-moving river as colorful and loud toucans pierced the air with wailing calls. Bright yellow-tailed oropendolas bubbled and gurgled from long hanging nests. They played in a clear, shallow pool underneath a shining, frothing waterfall and hiked well-marked trails in search of butterflies and birds, frogs and lizards, monkeys and anteaters. But no sloth.

Grissom had returned to his love of insects, working alongside two researchers as they recorded the life-cycle of a certain kind of glasswing butterfly—an on-going project for a decade—that took them deep into the forest. Sara was fairly certain, based on her husband's enthusiastic narratives, he had spent more time looking at every insect he'd seen than actually helping the researchers.

Her insect interest was far below that of Gil Grissom's, so, when she wasn't following the kids around, had helped care for an injured white-faced monkey and worked in the vegetable garden; and spent time alone for the first time in years. She and her husband had actually spent unaccompanied hours in kayaks padding the shallow river to its mouth where it entered the Pacific Ocean.

The two of them had been quietly paddling in clear water when they spotted a group of large blue Morpho butterflies along the bank.

"At least six inches," Grissom had whispered. "There must be a hundred or more!"

They stayed until the butterflies rose in a blue mass, flying over the water and disappearing into trees. Grissom's audible sigh increased until it became celebratory whoop of laughter.

"Isn't that the most beautiful sight? A cloud of Morphos!" Gently, he rocked the kayak, adding, "Remember seeing them before—on our honeymoon!"

Sara splashed her oar in the river, spraying them with a shower of water. "That was a long time ago, dear!" She grinned. "I do remember."

As they had paddled upriver squads of vibrant colored macaws flew over them and a large red fish splashed from the water to catch an insect.

It had been a wonderful month of new adventures and activities.

Sara, attempting to sleep, tried to turn in bed and found sharp elbows, bent knees, and round bottoms sliding into every vacant place. When she edged to the end of the bed, her space was immediately filled. Going into the children's bedroom, she straightened bedcovers in one of the narrow beds and crawled in, listening to the gentle rhythm of rain until she slept.

As a pale finger of light slowly moved across the rumpled coverlet, Sara felt an arm slip around her back. With no warning, warm lips touched her shoulder. A second later, she lifted his hand, kissing it and, when her husband's lips touched hers, she responded. Her thigh pressed against him and through the thin fabric of the bedcovers, she felt the warmth radiating from his body.

He had always been a loving, giving partner and as they had aged, he had become even more skilled, how to use fingers and tongue, caresses and kisses, to bring her to peak experiences during sex. In the early hours of the morning, again, he pulled covers over both of them, and with an ingrained familiarity, made love to the love of his life.

His mouth was soft and hot as it descended to her skin, finding places of sensation; the velvet curve of her breast, the delicate rim of her navel, the silky inside of her thigh. His tongue teased and tickled, danced and grazed over her body until Sara felt the quivering of pleasure, the bolts of delight running through her with each touch. Finally, he slipped inside her causing her to groan as she burst into her climax. Seconds later, she felt the hot surge, the deep growl that accompanied his throbbing orgasm.

When the sun touched the porch of the cabin, Sara and Grissom were side-by-side in a hammock, his foot touching the deck enough to give them a gentle swing.

"You're happy?" Grissom asked.

Sara hummed an affirmative answer.

"Let's come back—soon—not years."

Kissing his jaw, thinking she was the luckiest woman in the world, she agreed.

Later in the day, they watched as their children ran in pouring rain, jumping in puddles, standing in the downpour with upturned faces. The raindrops were enormous, soaking right to the skin, plastering hair around heads like a mop coming out of a bucket. The sheer quantity of water was incredible, especially to the Grissom children who had seldom seen heavy rain showers.

Grissom chuckled, saying, "What's the difference in the rain last night and today?"

Sara stretched her arm into the rain and picked a brightly colored flower from a vine growing along the porch. Turning to her husband, she grinned and put her arms around him so the flower touched her nose.

Grissom kissed her; starting with a quick peck on the cheek that turned into a long, loving and deep kiss. Finally, Sara broke away, laughing. "You'll have four very wet kids up here if they see us!"

Grissom said, "Is that it? They want to be included or break us apart?"

Sara laughed and kissed him again.

 _A/N: This will be a short story, probably 8-10 chapters. Thank you to everyone who reads, helping to keep GSR alive!_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: A new chapter! Enjoy!**_

 **After Effects**

 **Chapter 7**

 _Eight years later_ :

Gil Grissom stood on the terrace and watched the approaching car as it made the second of three switchback turns. He looked around at the nearby homes, separated by natural-growing vegetation, borders of fragrant flowers, and well-tended vegetable gardens. Not for the first time since making this place home, he was grateful for this out-of-the-way place they had found by accident. First seen from their boat before Sara had discovered the remote community on a map—as if any place in California could be remote—this place had remained off the path, a secluded cove with one road into the area. And the one road wasn't well marked.

The harbor had been the perfect place for their boat and the community had welcomed the family when they had moved into the house. Grissom smiled; he would never know how it had come about but the one vacant house had been a well-kept secret, no listing by any real estate agency, until two men had suggested they look at the house. And this conversation took place two years after the first time they had tied up to the harbor and had been a curiosity for local residents.

Their previous house had become crowded with four growing children and, as one of the most sought after neighborhoods to live around Los Angeles, they had decided to sell after they'd found this place. The house sold in two days for more money than he and Sara had imagined; his mother would have been pleased at the small fortune her long-ago purchase had returned.

The soft crunch of gravel from the parking pad announced the arrival of his wife and youngest daughter. As he watched, he could see a one-sided, animated conversation taking place; no, he decided, this was a lecture. Bronwyn's chin was almost touching her chest and after several minutes, the twelve-year-old got out of the car, heading for the house.

He smiled again; she looked like a rosebud in a lavender sweater, cheeks flushed, blue eyes downcast, long-wheat-colored hair caught in a brief whirl of wind as she walked toward him—to the front deck. No smile, no enthusiasm; her greeting consisted of a few mumbled words, a quick avoidance of their habitual hug, and she was inside the house. The heavy foot falls told him life was not going as desired for this usually bubbling girl-child.

A few more minutes passed before his wife got out of the car and headed in his direction, and, he knew—she wasn't happy. Primed by the entrance of their daughter, he had moved across the deck, welcoming his wife with a swift kiss as he took the woven shopping bag from her hand.

His hand stroked across her back as he said, "What's going on?"

Sara's eyes rolled as she motioned to the open French doors of the room they used as an office. Once inside, she closed both doors and turned to Grissom, throwing her arms wide; her mouth opened once before she began to pace. He could see her flushed face, the flaming sparks in her eyes, as she paced for a full minute.

"Your daughter…"

Any time she addressed their children in this way—he hated to hear the rest of her sentence.

"Your daughter—while we were in the car—she—we had to stop for several minutes for the road construction—and," she shook her head, throwing her arms out again, "she called one of the men a slur word! A word we've never used! My child!" Her hand splayed against her chest.

Not anger, he realized, but disappointment and frustration ranged across her face. Taking a few steps, he spread his arms and embraced her. He felt several deep sighs before she said:

"I know she's twelve—and she hears things from others—but when our little girl said that word—oh, Gil—I almost cried. And I did yell at her."

Gently, Grissom pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her. "What did you yell?"

"Her name—then told her I'd better never hear her say the word again—she came back with 'Ethan says it' and then I sort of went into that five hundred year old parent lecture about following Ethan off a cliff."

To his credit, he did not laugh but pulled her close and kissed her again before saying, "These things happen—she's twelve. She—she is influenced by more than her parents, more than her brothers and sister." His fingers raked through his wife's curling hair as her head rested on his shoulder.

"I want to put all of them under a bell jar and keep them there—safe, protected."

At her remark, Grissom did chuckle. "Maybe not—the bell jar has its own stifling distortions." He grunted an attempted laugh, adding, "It's been a while since I read the book, but not much good came for her."

Sara relaxed against him, kissing his jaw, softly laughing at his comment. "I think I surprised her with my reaction as much as I was shocked by her use of the word." Sighing, she said, "I'll ask if she'll help prepare dinner."

"Do I need to be involved?" He asked, hoping for a negative answer.

"No—no, we'll be fine." She laughed again, saying, "I might want to put a bar of soap in Ethan's mouth—but I won't." She kissed him again; a real kiss that could have easily developed into more.

A few minutes later, Sara disappeared through the connecting door. He heard her light footsteps on the stairs as he picked up his book and settled onto an old comfortable sofa. After reading for awhile, he heard his wife and daughter, laughing, talking about dinner as pots and pans rattled, all previous frustration and stress gone by the companionable sounds from the kitchen.

The book fell to his chest; rereading _The Odyssey_ because it was on the reading list for his teenage sons, he had been enjoying the classic story of dramatic battles, personal struggles, and social issues, of gods and heroes, kings and queens, woven into an epic tale. But today, he stared out the window at the beautiful blue sky that touched the Pacific Ocean in the far distance and thought about how fortunate he was to live this life.

The noisy arrival of his oldest daughter brought him from his daydreaming thoughts. Cate thumped her way onto the deck and then banged the door as she entered the house. Grissom would never understand how a girl so slight and dainty in appearance could create such perpetual noise. Her book bag dropped, books fell, a notebook clattered to the floor.

Cate would graduate from high school as head of her class in a few months; a math and music prodigy, a striking, delicate beauty that disguised her amazing abilities. She'd already selected her university, not far from home, thank goodness.

"Good afternoon, Cate," he called to get her attention, giving her mother and sister more time in the kitchen.

She came into the office, her hand slapping a rhythm on the wall, then her thigh as she walked. "Hi, Dad! Are you reading? Hiding from Mom?" She flopped down beside him, pushing her hand around his arm as she drew close to him.

"I was reading and then thinking about what I'd read."

She chortled with amusement. "You sound like our teachers." Her voice deepened as she quoted, "Think about what you've read—books are meant to enrich and improve your life." Her feet went to the top of the table beside his as she added, "I have no idea why one would read if you didn't think about what you were reading! But some people are not very smart."

He took a chance, asking, "Do you hear a lot of rude comments at school? Name calling?"

If she thought his question was odd, she did not mention it. Instead, she said, "Not much—some political stuff—and you know that comes from Mr. Bogge who wants to be a big politician. A few kids will follow him around—you know—the ones who want to throw all the people out of the country who don't look like they do."

He knew the teacher by discussions at their dinner table when Cate and the boys had been in ninth grade. He asked, "Do you think many people pay attention to what he says—or the kids?"

"No, by the time kids get to tenth grade, he's forgotten." She laughed, hugging his arm as she put her head on his shoulder. "You want to hear a funny story?" She didn't wait for an answer as she continued, "You know Bennett Martin, right? He was in a store trying on clothes when he heard Mr. Bogge and his wife who were in the dressing room and he—Mr. Bogge—was trying on a suit. Well, he—Bennett—decided to stay in the dressing room and out of sight and listen to their conversation. Everything was too big or too small or too expensive and they ended up in this big verbal fight!"

Grissom could imagine the pleasure it would give a student to eavesdrop on a teacher, especially one with opposing political viewpoints which he knew would be true for Bennett Martin.

Cate turned her head to his and asked, "You're not going to say he shouldn't have eavesdropped or told us about it?"

"You know it's impolite to eavesdrop—nor should one spread what one overhears." Quietly, he chuckled, adding, "but in this case, it was irresistible."

A silence settled for several long moments; they could hear sounds from the kitchen. Cate asked, "How come you and Mom never tell us what's right and wrong?"

He had no idea where this was going but he had asked her an odd question. He answered, "I think we do."

"You don't," she said. "You tell us to help others and not lie." Pulling away so she could look at him, she asked, "What about the ten commandants—coveting your neighbor's wife and not killing people?"

Pulling her back so his arm fit around her shoulders, he was quiet for a minute before he answered. "If you help people and you don't lie, you are unlikely to want to kill anyone—and you won't have time to covet your neighbor's wife."

"Oh, Dad, are you serious?" She laughed.

Any further discussion was interrupted by the sound of another car arriving quickly followed by three good-humored voices approaching the house.

Grissom and his daughter opened the double doors to the deck and were immediately caught up in the amicable and excited conversation between two young teenage boys and the man they had long called 'Papa Jim'.

 _A/N: Thank you for reading-and a special thank you for reviewing, sending your words of encouragement!_


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Another new story! Thanks for reading! A special thank you to those who review-help us keep GSR alive and well in fanfiction!**_

 **After Effects**

 **Chapter 8**

Sara heard the clamor of the arrivals as she placed vegetables in the oven for roasting; Bronwyn tossed the salad she'd been making casting eyes to her mother.

"Go on," Sara said with a nod. "Everything will be ready in fifteen minutes."

The cheerful sounds of all four children reached her ears as she added pasta to water. With frequent interruptions, they related the day's experiences in joyous ways Sara had never experienced as a teenager—a period of her life she'd almost forgotten.

Smiling, she finished preparations for dinner for her hungry family. At one time, she'd thought she could not cook but as her family had grown, she had learned that cooking was eighty percent chemistry—and the rest had been an easy learning curve for her.

When the children were small, meals had been established as a family gathering to eat what was prepared and, as a result, they had developed a willingness to try any food, had good appetites, and were mostly vegetarians. And, over the years, she and Grissom had become good cooks. Tonight's creamy mushroom stir fry over pasta and roasted vegetables along with wilted greens and olive salad would bring enthusiastic compliments from all.

A few minutes later, Cate and Bronwyn were playing the piano together, an old movie melody with the older girl playing the more complicated keys while Bronwyn played with two fingers. It was amazing how beautiful Cate played, Sara thought, when anything else she did was lacking in physical grace.

Suddenly, before she could turn, her sons were around her, placing twin kisses on her cheeks. They were tall, so handsome it took her breath to realize she and her husband had produced such perfection—twice. When the boys had been thirteen, Jay still looked like a child while Gregory's sudden growth spurt put him a head taller than his twin. That had lasted for a year.

Now, Jay's appearance was deceptive with the curly hair so similar to his father's; not as tall as his brother but surprisingly strong with the physical endurance to run ahead of his cross-country team in every race of the year. He was the quietest of their children—serene, Sara thought—or gave that impression to those not close to him. His family knew when he spoke, he had well-thought his words.

Gregory, in contrast, had the look of an athlete, sun-touched skin, and long curling dark hair worn in a ponytail. From his mother, he'd inherited his eyes, his long bones that gave him an elegance of movement, the love of learning, and a somewhat rebelliousness that occasionally had to be checked by both parents.

Both boys had a playful charm that girls noticed and was curbed by their two sisters. And, most importantly, the children had a special relationship, a bond that meant whatever happened to one was grieved or celebrated by all. Sara often referred to it as "The Three Musketeers" with Bronwyn as d'Artagnan, tagging along sometimes, leader of the pack at other times. She also knew they covered for each other whenever possible, never doubting there were schemes and conspiracies done without her knowledge, kept quiet by all four.

All of their children were affectionate and respectful; never a problem at school or with teachers, too involved in learning to be interested in drugs. The boys had been accepted by an oceanographic research group to work as summer interns, and, as much as Sara hated to see her sons absent for two months, she knew it was time for them to work with someone other than their parents.

After a few minutes of good-natured bantering, and hearing "fifteen minutes until dinner", the boys thundered upstairs for showers after their soccer practice.

Sara walked to the deck as another piano duet filled the air. To Grissom and Jim Brass, she said, "There's wine in the kitchen."

Neither man needed encouragement to follow her.

As the piano composition became more complex, Grissom got wine glasses from the cabinet and said, "It's amazing how that girl makes so much noise walking across the floor yet plays such beautiful music."

Brass chuckled and lifted the bottle of wine, saying, "To beautiful music!"

Jim Brass was a permanent part of the family now; he knew where the wine opener was kept; he knew what kind of wine to buy. He knew how much to pour for each of them. He had been affectionately named 'Papa Jim' by one of the twins when the boys learned to talk. And when the Grissom's had decided to move, Jim, with no close relatives of his own, was included. A garage on the property had been renovated and modernized into the perfect house for the man who was loved by every member of the Grissom family.

In his new life, Jim Brass became a stand-in grandparent who doted on the two girls who, in his eyes, could do no wrong, and was the affectionate, fun-loving old pal and pirate, coach and cohort to the boys. While their father taught them about whales and turtles, climate and environmental causes, Brass educated them on the use of hammers, saws, drills, and garden tools as they installed benches, planted flowers, hung bird feeders, and spent endless hours searching for 'good deals' for everything from sports equipment to boat parts.

"Bowls and plates tonight," Sara said as Grissom opened another cabinet. In a hushed voice, she added, "Brag on the salad—Bronwyn's making."

Grissom passed bowls and plates to Jim and opened a drawer for flatware and napkins.

"Bronwyn is going to outshine all of them," Jim said. "She's learning from the others—has a brain like a sponge."

Sara, draining pasta, leaned to his ear and whispered, "She picked up a slur word from one of her friends today—used it in the car and I blew up."

Shaking his head, Jim started placing bowls and plates around the table as the boys appeared, stepping in to help as the two men backed away.

Throughout the meal, Sara listened and marveled at the wonderful life they had, knowing so many were less fortunate. Her beautiful daughters held their own in conversations with their brothers, their father, and Jim. Cate's good natured challenge of the intention of one of their current books had caused a boisterous rebuttal from Jay, backed by Gregory who finally admitted that he had not read the complete book.

Grissom laughed; Jim and Bronwyn had their own quiet conversation going. Across the table, Sara's eyes met her husband's in a fleeting glance as he joined the discussion about the intent of the book. Her son's eyes, she thought.

In a second, the atmosphere at the table changed; she had missed something while daydreaming, Sara thought. The boys looked at Bronwyn; Grissom's fork stopped on the way to his mouth. Cate coughed, a fake sound, Sara knew, in an obvious effort to send a message to her sister.

"What?" The young girl looked at her brothers, then at her father. "All I said was 'she hid it in her vagina'—not like you haven't heard that word before!"

Sara's eyes widened as she asked, "What exactly are we talking about?"

Jim's head had dropped; she could see he was biting his lip to avoid a laugh.

The four others at the table stared. Sara caught a slight movement from one of the boys; another attempt to send a message, she thought.

"Okay—what was hidden and how do you know about it?" She asked.

Jim passed a hand across his face, lifting his head with a poker face in place.

"Bronwyn," Grissom said, "answer your mother, please."

The child stirred her pasta before replying. "A girl in ninth grade got arrested—only it's not a real arrest, just taken to juvie, when she got caught shop lifting. And then they found out she'd hidden an expensive watch in her vagina!" She made a face, adding, "Can you believe? Somebody will buy that watch and never know where it's been!"

"That is not a true story, Bron," Jay said.

"Yes, it is! Ethan told me it was true!"

Sara asked, "Is this the same Ethan? And why would he know this?"

Bronwyn nodded, saying, "He's in my classes—he's kinda cute."

Sara's eyes remained on her daughter even as she heard two sounds from her sons, a clearing of one's throat and another cough.

Continuing without a glance toward either brother, the girl said, "His dad works for the sheriff and he knows a lot of stuff—about—about crime and things. So he knows it's true."

Another cough caused Sara to look at her older children. She said, "Okay, what's going on? Obviously, others at this table are trying to send a message—so what's going on?"

Silence followed until she said, "There's a delicious dessert waiting—but I know four people who won't get one bite until…"

The boys looked at each other, then at Cate before nodding at their younger sister.

Gregory said, "You might as well tell everything—and don't forget, we told you not to listen to this kid. He's going to be in trouble!"

Bronwyn made a face at her brother before turning to her mother. She said, "Ethan is smart—I don't think he's the smartest person in my grade, but he knows a lot about computers. And—and he sort of looks at stuff his dad has on his computer—work stuff."

"Sort of?" This came from Grissom.

Bronwyn's bright eyes shot a look across the table. "He—he just checks what his dad does—looks at notes about crimes. Doesn't change anything—and he doesn't tell everyone." She smiled, looking back and forth at her parents. "He found out all about you guys! What you did in Las Vegas a long time ago! He says you solved a lot of cases and one of them was called 'The Miniature Killer'! About this woman who made models of her crimes—like doll houses. He even found photos of them—one was in a chicken factory." She looked at Sara, asking, "Is that what made you a vegetarian?"

Sara had to make herself take a breath.

Grissom sighed, placed his fork beside his plate, and said, "That happened a long time ago, honey. We can talk about it if you want. And your friend could get in serious trouble—his dad could lose his job. Can you tell him this tomorrow? You can't be his friend if he's going to break the law—do you understand why?"

"Well, he was just…"

"No, Bronwyn. If you can't tell him what he's doing is wrong, I'll need to talk to his father. Can you tell him that?"

She almost shrugged her shoulders but stopped in mid-movement. "I can tell him—that doesn't mean he will stop looking."

Grissom picked up his fork, saying, "I think he will. He seems to want to be your friend." He looked at Sara who had returned to eating. "If you'd like, invite him to come here. He might enjoy meeting a couple of people who were involved in that case with the models."

Bronwyn perked up as she recognized a shift in conversation. She said, "He'd love that! He says Mom was kidnapped by the crazy woman and left to die and then she—the woman who did it—she killed herself! Did you know that?"

Her wide blue eyes looked around the table at the five people looking at her with unwavering attention. Brass reached over, placing a hand on her arm.

He said, "If it is okay with your parents, I'll tell you all about this miniature case." With a glance at Sara, he winked, adding, "Your mom and dad have probably forgotten a lot of it, but ole Papa Jim has a mind like a steel trap—nothing is ever lost."

With a smile, Sara nodded. "Tell them all of it—but after dessert."

Grissom and Sara cleaned up after Jim waved the kids to the deck. Occasionally, they could hear his animated story as he related details of the decades-old investigation.

"He's spending a lot of time describing those models," Sara whispered.

"That's good—they don't need to know details of the murders—or of your experience." Grissom kissed her before wiping the table.

"It seems like another person's life—so long ago."

He chuckled. "What do we do about Ethan?"

"He's the one who used the slur—according to Bronwyn. And now he's hacking into his father's work and telling what he finds." Sara shook her head, placing hands on hips, as she said, "Do you think it's true? The part about hiding the watch?"

Almost an hour passed before Grissom took the remaining wine to the deck; Sara followed with glasses and water which she poured into four glasses. After filling three glasses with wine, Grissom splashed a few drops of wine into the glasses of water before passing these to his children.

Brass had wrapped up the telling of the miniature killer investigation and was answering questions, mostly about the details of the models.

Seeing their interest, Grissom said, "You should read about Frances Glessner Lee—the mother of forensic investigation. She made miniature rooms of actual murder scenes. People studied them for years—probably still do."

As the sky darkened, the family continued talking about a time before the children were born until Sara reminded them of homework and preparations for bed. Cate immediately remembered an assignment; her quick departure caused both parents to think the assignment was more likely one of her own making. One of the boys asked about a snack, seconded by the other, and both disappeared into the kitchen.

Grissom pulled his youngest onto the chair beside him. He said, "Remember what we said about Ethan. If he wants to be your friend, he has to stop looking at his dad's work."

She nodded, saying, "He's not a bad guy—really."

Sara moved over and sat on the arm of the chair, saying, "Ask him if he'd like to visit—his parents can call or let the school know that I'll pick him up after school."

Bronwyn brightened, saying, "Not like a play-date. We're too old for that."

"No, not a play-date," Sara said, smiling as she gave her daughter a pat on the shoulder. "Now—time to get ready for bed." She kissed the top of Bronwyn's head, lingering longer than necessary to enjoy the sweet smell of childhood.

As the child left, Brass yawned and pointed west. "I'm headed there—my bed waits."

Grissom and Sara watched as he ambled along a gravel path, waving right before he disappeared around a low-spreading tree. A minute later they heard the door click shut.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence; Sara had fitted into the space left by Bronwyn. Finally, Grissom asked if she'd like tea or coffee.

"If I drink coffee this late, I'll be awake for hours—so will you."

He knew that was not the truth. His wife could drink coffee and be asleep in fifteen minutes. With a grin, he said, "We can try to keep each other awake!" Quickly, he moved his eyebrows up and down.

Leaning to him, she kissed him before pushing out of the chair, turning to take his hand in hers.

Even after all the years together, he knew she blushed as she said, "I don't need coffee for that."

 _A/N: This story is coming to its end with one or two more chapters-probably after the upcoming holiday. We appreciate all of you who give us encouragement with your words! And we'd love to hear from you!_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: Thanks to all who are reading this little fluff story!**_

 **After Effects**

 **Chapter 9**

 _Sixteen years later:_

Gil Grissom woke when the sun came up; he'd done so for years and today was no different. Smiling as he thought of 'today was no different' when it was a very different day—like no other he'd lived.

The sky was beginning to show tones of orange; a thin line of fog blurred the low areas of land. Through open windows, he could smell a beautiful spring morning forming into a perfect day.

Turning his head, his smile grew as he found the source of the sharp elbow sticking into his rib. Two small bodies were curled up, crowding his side of the bed. Snuggled against the children, his beautiful wife slept, one arm resting on the child nearest her.

For nearly fifty years, he had loved this woman more than anyone else on earth. His soul mate, his wife, the mother of his children; softly, he chuckled. This woman had been his lover for so long, he no longer remembered any others.

Stiffness had settled into his joints as he slept so he groaned—softly—as he stretched and adjusted bedcovers. And just as quickly, a dark brown eye opened and blinked. Raising his head, he glanced at the empty space across the bed; even with two little people between them, she managed to sleep in the middle of the bed.

"I was trying to be quiet," he whispered.

Lifting her head, his wife smiled, saying, "This is a big day, Gil." She looked at the faces of the sleeping children, tucking the sheet around the little girl's shoulders. "Who would have thought we'd have another baby in bed with us—two babies—after all this time?"

Unable to hide his grin, softly, he laughed. "Who would have thought I'd live so long—we are the fortunate ones. I never thought I'd be a parent and certainly never thought about being a grandpa."

Sara had rolled over and sat upright, pulling her knees up and wrapping arms around her legs; she'd heard similar words many times over thirty-plus years.

She said, "And I think we make splendid grandparents." Her smile spread across her face as she added, "And I hope we have more."

Leaning across the sleeping children, Grissom placed a kiss on his wife's cheek and then she turned so they could properly kiss each other. His hand gently raked through hair that was now streaked with more white than brown, still curling around his fingers.

When they parted, Grissom said, "Do we stay here and act like old people or do we get up and join the hubbub?"

"Is anyone else awake?"

"Probably not—but this one will wake up if she realizes we're up."

Sara pointed to a book on the bedside table. "It's early. We can read for an hour."

"I'm going to make coffee."

Her eyes brighten at his statement. "Yes, excellent idea."

Grissom got out of bed, reached for his glasses, shuffled around for a full minute until he found his old sandals, and left the bedroom. His steps were slow, but, as he often reminded himself, he was still upright and walking on his own. Peeing on his own, too, he added, as he made a detour into their bathroom before heading to the kitchen.

With everyone else asleep, the rambling house was quiet; their grown children were sleeping in upstairs bedrooms and on the old sofa bed in the den. More people in the house than had been in years, he thought. Hoping to keep the quietness for a bit longer, he carefully set out cups as the coffee gurgled into a brew and then moved to the window that looked west. The line of fog had lifted and the Pacific Ocean was as clearly visible as the day they had moved in.

Grissom would never admit the comfort he found in the sight of the ocean. After decades of misuse, as a place to throw unwanted trash and debris, he'd lived to see a world-wide effort to clean the oceans. Species were making a comeback from the brink of extinction; sharks, whales, even nautiluses were increasing in numbers. Coral reefs were being restored, albeit by artificial means, but at least it was a start. His optimism had grown over the decades as the importance of a healthy environment had finally become a priority—not just individuals and small organizations, but government after government had funded scientists and research to clean up decades of neglect and maltreatment.

He had no idea how many months or years he had left but he was sure the oceans would survive. The bubbling coffee pulled him back to the reality of the day and he poured and spooned and stirred the contents of two cups in a routine ritual striving for the perfect coffee.

Because he was alone, his thoughts turned to those still sleeping in the house; much had changed in recent years but much had remained the same. The house was the same except he and Sara had turned their office into a bedroom a decade ago leaving the upstairs bedrooms empty—or waiting, as Sara put it.

Cate had been the first to leave home, a full scholarship to her first college choice, and two degrees later, she'd gone to work in programming for one of the largest tech companies in the world. One weekend, she'd come home with an equally bright young man, announced they had married, and decided to change career directions. He suspected she had returned home to become a caregiver or at least provide assistance to her elderly parents.

She and her husband became teachers in the local high school—and a year later, Cate had delivered her first child—the little girl sleeping in their bed. And becoming grandparents, much as becoming parents had done, had given he and Sara a new outlook on life.

Their boys, Jay and Greg, had left home the next year. Sticking together as they had always done, their experiences from early childhood sent both to Santa Barbara and then to Woods Hole as marine researchers. He knew Sara grieved their absence more than she ever admitted but was equally proud of their success as they traveled the globe as environmentalists.

Last year, both had returned home—at least to California—Jay to San Diego and Greg and his wife to Santa Cruz. And they were grandparents for a second time; the little boy in their bed was Greg's son.

As quietly as possible, he placed cups on a tray, added two smaller cups of juice, and headed back to the bedroom.

The sight that met his eyes caused his smile to spread across his face. A nest had been made of pillows and blankets. Sara was propped on pillows holding a book, but not the book from the bedside he'd noticed. She held a large colorful child's book.

Within the circle of bedcovers, he could see their granddaughter, Sara Beth, her head resting below Sara's chin. Gilbert—his namesake—was cuddled against his grandmother's shoulder; his blonde mop of curls a stark contrast to his cousin's straight black hair.

His appearance brought squeals of delight as the two children ducked under Sara's arms and crawled across the bed to meet him. Quickly placing his tray next to the bed, he joined in their affectionate hugs and kisses, babbling and talking at once, until they quieted with the promise of juice in bed followed by waffles outside on the deck.

For the next hour, Grissom and Sara knew they were the luckiest people on earth. Around them flowed the life they had made for more than thirty years. Cate and her husband, Daniel, made waffles. Jay, who had been sleeping on the sofa, crawled around the deck with the two children playing a game of their own making. Greg and his wife, Emma, helped with breakfast as everyone's appetite seemed to grow exponentially as long-time friends, Nick and Mandy, Greg and Morgan, who were staying in the small house next door, arrived for breakfast.

Finally, Bronwyn emerged from one of the bedrooms; this was her day and her siblings, her parents, everyone in the house shouted and applauded when she made her appearance.

Grissom was the first to reach his youngest daughter, giving her a hug, as he said, "It's a perfect day for a wedding for a beautiful bride!"

 ** _A/N: One more chapter-because-who doesn't love a wedding! Thanks so much for staying with us._**


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:** This chapter brings the story to its end! We hope you enjoyed going along with Grissom and Sara and their little family as everyone aged...and Grissom would be 91 in Chapters 9 and 10! _

**After Effects**

 **Chapter 10**

The gardens of the public park were bursting with tiny flowering buds; trees had unfurled their spring leaves in celebration of a new season. A wide stone terrace was decked with flowers, overflowing baskets, hanging from trellises. Real flowers, Sara thought, as she touched flowers attached to chairs.

Two hundred guests for the wedding and dinner to follow. She grinned as she acknowledged knowing her youngest child would be the one who would have this kind of wedding. The child had always loved a production.

When she got to the last row of chairs, she sat down and watched as the florists placed the last of flowers, as musicians tested instruments and speakers; she had managed to slip away from the happy commotion at the house for a few minutes. She'd walked the trail to the park, one she'd been taking since the children were young and in a few hours, Bronwyn would walk as a bride.

She wished she had thought to bring a cold beer.

The musicians began to play a song she recognized, surprised her daughter had asked for this one. She closed her eyes, as relaxed as a mother-of-the-bride could be on wedding day.

"Hiding out?"

She jumped before opening her eyes and realizing her old friends, Nick Stokes and Greg Sanders, stood at her side. Both men were more handsome now, she thought, than when they had been young, part of a team so long ago.

"Caught me," she said with a laugh.

Nick held up his hand, holding a glass bottle. He said, "So are we—and I brought a beer."

Smiling, she took the bottle, saying, "How long has it been since we shared one bottle of beer?" before taking a long swallow.

Nick sat beside her while Greg sat in the next row and for a few minutes, they passed the bottle back and forth until she indicated one of them could finish it off.

"It's a beautiful wedding," Greg said.

With a soft laugh, Sara corrected him, saying, "The wedding is in a couple of hours."

Laughing, Nick drained the bottle before saying, "The weekend—you and Grissom have outdone yourselves."

"Four kids—one wedding. The least we could do is make sure it's beautiful and fun."

Nick leaned back, hooking his arm over the chair back to look at her. "You did get off easy with Cate and little Greg—what about Jay? He might get married—big wedding." He made a quiet snort. "Maybe—one day."

On the terrace, music changed to another song Sara recognized as an old one.

"Jay is so much like his dad," Sara said, not bothering to hide her snicker at their joke. "It will have to be one determined woman."

Nick lifted his chin in the direction of the terrace. Standing, he handed Greg the empty bottle and said, "I may be old but I never miss a chance to dance to one of 'our' songs." His hand extended to Sara's as she came to her feet. His hand went to her back as they stepped away from the chairs, guiding her into a slow dance. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

Sara did not know if he referred to their dance or their friendship; she decided on friendship, saying, "You are a wonderful friend, Nick." His face broke into a grin when she kissed his cheek.

After the song ended, the three friends headed back to the house as conversation flowed between the three. There had been times when months passed without talking, but they managed to catch up with each other's lives as if the passing time had been a few days.

...It had been an accomplishment to pull off, and Grissom gave his wife and daughters full credit for everything. He'd known from the time Bronwyn announced she was getting married that her wedding would be an event. Everyone in the community knew her and her groom; add friends and family and they were having an 'intimate' wedding with two hundred guests.

Pouring wine spritzer into two glasses, he walked across the deck and placed one next to Catherine Willows. As he moved a chair near her, he thought of the constant influence this woman had been; never changing—except for her hair which was more white than gold now. When she stood, she was ramrod straight, sculpted, razor-sharp in body and mind. And never married after Eddie; he knew she'd had boyfriends, one or two for years, but explained the right combination had never happened.

He watched as she continued talking to Cate about life in Las Vegas—casinos, growth of the area, and, with great pride, her grandchildren. After years in the crime lab, she'd finally moved into her father's business. Her daughter, who had two teenagers now, had followed a few years later and was now CEO.

Catherine turned to Grissom, picking up the glass. "Thank you, Gil. Everything is beautiful! And perfect weather—but you have that all the time! Every time I visit, I marvel at this place—how you two managed to find the one hidden gem along the coast that has managed to remain—this way!"

Chuckling, he agreed.

She continued, "Of course, having state and federal parks on three sides has helped. Vegas had uncontrolled spread for so long—stopping because of park boundaries—I'd thought it couldn't get any bigger. Then developers started on old neighborhoods—it's a miracle any of them survived." She took a sip of wine, slowly placing the glass on the small table; her eyes seemed to gaze into the distance for a long moment.

Finally, she said, "Heather's old house is gone—replaced with condos. I saw her a few times, but she became more reclusive." Catherine's eyes focused on her friend. "There was a time, long ago, I thought you'd end up with her."

Another chuckle was Grissom's response. For thirty years, almost every time he'd seen Catherine, she had brought up Heather Kessler. Making another sound that sounded more like a groan than a chuckle, he glanced around the deck, surprised to find they were alone.

"Catherine—the woman's been dead for what? Fifteen years—longer? What do you want to know? We were friends—never lovers—she was—she was interesting."

Catherine's mouth opened, closed, opened again before she smiled. "Well, everyone thought you were lovers!"

Grissom made a face, waving a hand toward her, and laughed. "That was all a life time ago—we've been here—in California for over thirty years. Sometimes I can't remember what happened all those years ago—except for one thing." Quietly, he chuckled, shaking his head and said a date, and then "It was three-thirty in the afternoon and I knew she was special." Quickly, he added, "I didn't know how or what that meant but I knew I wanted to be around her, hear her voice, make her laugh. Of course, I didn't figure out what to do for years—wasn't very smart about it—but when I got the full force of that Sara smile, I knew—this woman—barely more than a girl—was—was going to hold a special place in my life."

Lifting his wine glass into the air, he smiled, saying, "To a wonderful life."

Raising her glass to touch his, Catherine laughed, the same, high-pitched laugh he remembered. "It took you long enough—and look how well things turned out."

Late in the afternoon, when Bronwyn came down the stairway with her mother at her side, Grissom had to take a deep breath at the life size painting before him. He stared at the pair of beautiful women, chosen by another to be mother and daughter, so different in physical appearance; the younger in a delicate, diaphanous white dress, cheeks blushed, eyes a robin's egg blue, blonde hair brushed away from her face. But it was from Sara that his dreams and memories, multi hued, iridescent, arose. He remembered their first meeting, their first touch, when they had both known instant desire. In his mind, he could still see the young woman, no older than his daughter in the shimmering rainbow of memory.

Their lips were moving, he realized. Talking, smiling, as they came toward him, Bronwyn's arm stretched to take his hand for the familiar walk to marry her groom, a young man he and Sara had grown to love.

In a ceremony timed for sunset, not one chair was vacant as Bronwyn Grissom married her childhood friend in a traditional ritual that dated back to the beginnings of civilization. The bride's niece was flower girl; her sister was her attendant. The bride was beautiful in a flowing dress; the groom was handsome in his casual suit wearing a blue shirt the color of the bride's eyes.

During dinner, when friends and family spoke of memories of the young couple, it was Bronwyn's brother, Jay, who related his sister's first mention of her new husband.

"She used a bad word—and said she'd learned it from Ethan," he said as the guests laughed at the story. "She was twelve, I think, and she'd been talking about this funny guy named Ethan for weeks." Shrugging his shoulders, he added, "Who would have thought we'd hear about Ethan for years—and then make him part of the family!"

After hours of doing duty as parents of the bride, Sara and Grissom finally moved to the area far from the band where their old friends gathered. Stories were told, experiences were relived, plans made. Retirement had arrived for all; Nick and Mandy, in San Diego, visited often. Greg and Morgan lived in Vegas near their children and Catherine admitted there was no other place she would live.

Occasionally, one of the Grissom children arrived, dragging their dad or mom or one of the friends onto the dance floor for a slow dance. At some point, the two Grissom grandchildren fell asleep in protective arms.

Finally, the young couple departed amid a flurry of excitement and promises for their future. The parents and their long-time friends strolled back to house under a sky that assured a beautiful dawn.

In the early hours of the morning, after everyone had changed to casual clothes and comfortable shoes, Grissom made coffee, pouring it into insulated cups, and sacked up a bag of snacks. Sara pulled out warmer jackets insisting they would be wanted later.

By the time the blue-gray sky marked the coming dawn, the group was in three vehicles, heading to the small craft harbor. Nine of them; Catherine, Nick and Mandy, Greg and Morgan, Sara and the three Grissom men arrived at the dock and the younger men helped the women onto the old boat that still bore the name _'Ishmael'_. Six names in smaller script, those of children and grandchildren had been written around the cabin door.

There had been few changes to the boat over thirty years; several new coats of paint, a rebuilt engine, more seating on the deck. The big engine came to life as Jay threw off lines and Greg maneuvered it away from the dock. Moving at low speed along the shoreline, decorous as a gondola, until they reached a point jutting westward, Greg Grissom pointed the boat into flat water. A dim cottony mist just above the waterline vanished as the prow cut the peaceful surface. The old boat seemed to feel her freedom as water flashed higher against the hull.

Faces turned upward as a flock of birds curved in unison toward the shore. A few minutes later, someone called out to look at the water where shiny silver fish swam in abundance.

Watching her guests, Sara remembered the first time she'd seen the sun rise while on a boat—a ship headed south, leaving the life she'd known behind her. Life did not always turn in the direction one headed, she thought, as the boat made another slow turn.

Greg cut the motor, letting the boat ride lightly on glistening water, facing east.

A moment later, the pearl morning haze was overtaken by a flash of pure white light. The flame of scarlet, the blush of pink, the warmth of tangerine filled the sky. The sea glistened as sparks of light danced on its surface. Peaks of land wore golden crowns as soft rays of the sunrise kissed faces.

In the silence, Sara heard an intake of breath; realizing seconds later, she'd heard a collective response. Her hand touched and folded into her husband's. As if a magic wand had been waved, hands touched and clasped together as the group watched the beautiful sky, proof that life could be the same.

The years seemed to disappear as the soft lullaby the waves sang washed away time for the old friends.

The End...

 _ **A/N: Thank you for reading. Thank you for your continued support, for your comments, and your encouragement! We appreciate every reader and especially those who review-you are good friends!**_


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